The Last Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

so popular. Now I had to rely on Andy to capture that same feeling. Andy, who was known to sleep with his film before he shot it—just to warm it up.

    Roger Teller came into the study.

    He was a babe. No question about it. Wow.

    No problem. He can have the job.

    I should never have been put in charge of casting.

    "Are you Ms. Cooper?" he asked.

    "Shari, please. Yes." I stood to shake his hand.

    "Come in. Have a seat."

    "Thank you."

    He plopped down opposite me on a wine-colored love seat. I sat cross-legged in an overstuffed chair.

    His face was perfection, molded in paradox. He appeared both strong and vulnerable. His eyes were large, dark; his intelligence shimmered behind them like reflections of the moon at night. He was broad shouldered but thin; his large hands reminded me of Peter's—before Peter died, the first time. When he was tall and blond. Roger didn't look like he would ever die. He had the handsomeness of eternal youth; the world would give him only good things, and take nothing away. In another age he would have been considered royalty. His expensive slacks were soft gray flannel, his dress shirt white. He wore a gold watch.

    "Henry tells me you're a great actor," I said.

    When he didn't respond, I added, "What do you think?"

    "I went to your signing this afternoon," he replied. "I watched as those teenagers told you what a great writer you were. I noticed you didn't know what to say to them."

    "I didn't see you there."

    He smiled faintly. "I hid in the shadows."

    "Why did you come to the signing?"

    "To see you. I read your books before auditioning for this part." He paused. "You're quite the writer."

    "Thank you. What do you think of the Daniel part in First to Die?"

    Roger shrugged. "He's a strong character. But I think I would play him slightly differently from how you wrote him."

    A bold comment, from someone trying to get a part. "How so?"

    "I would have him talk less."

    "I'm curious how you'd do that. When there's a line in the script that belongs to him, what are you going to do? Remain silent?"

    He shrugged. "I think more can be done with looks than words in some places. I may only be talking about four or five lines altogether."

    His boldness continued to amaze me. Most actors pant in front of someone who can give them a job. And here this guy was indirectly insulting my writing by telling me he could improve upon it.

    "Hmm," I muttered.

    My reaction amused him. "Of course, if you give me the role, I'll only be an employee. I can only make suggestions."

    "I don't have final say on whether you get the role or not.""

    "Yes, you do, Shari. It's your movie."

    Now he was calling me a liar, but subtly. He was subtle about everything—the way he was checking out my body, my face. I don't know why I liked him, besides his good looks, although they helped.

    Oh yes. And those deep, dark eyes.

    "You have read Remember Me?" I said.

    "Yes."

    "What did you think of it?"

    He met my gaze and held it. "It reads like a true story."

    "Maybe it is a true story. Maybe a ghost told it to me.

    "Are you thinking of making it into a movie?"

    "Yes. But we need a larger budget than five million. It will require lots of special effects."

    "For the death scenes?"

    "Yes, and some of the other scenes as well."

    "It sounds huge." He paused. "Do you want me to read for you for this movie?"

    "Yes, please. Can I get you a copy of the script?"

    "If you think it's necessary. I memorized the section where Daniel explains how Bob must be waiting somewhere between the sunken sailboat and the shore to kill them."

    I nodded. "That's a crucial scene. Pretend I'm Kathy."

    "It might help if you sat beside me. We can pretend we're alone in the lifeboat together."

    I stood. "They're not alone. Mary is with them.

    Or is that one of those small changes you'd like to make? Eliminate Mary's character?"

    "I would keep her. I would just kill her off."

    I sat beside him. The love seat was old,